


Hot Water

by orphan_account



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Hate Makeouts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: @homesick requested was Chapyard hate-makeouts, but I can’t write good smut unless I have context. So um, porn with minimal plot? (PG-13 for tongue).





	Hot Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macremae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/gifts).



“Really, you planned this entire thing just to get your hands on my kettle?” Chapman sighed, looking at the lanky man in a rather elaborate badger costume, trapped in a giant lobster net. “You could have just asked.”

“AHA!” Rudyard shouted. His voice echoed in the empty wine cellar. “You admit that you have a kettle.”

“Of course I have a kettle, Rudyard. How else would I brew the Earl Grey for Lady Templar’s London Fog, half sweet, extra oatmeal-milk foam?” A Swiss Army Knife appeared in Chapman's hand as he reached the netting, and he started cutting through it with only a second’s hesitation for the loss of good-quality rope. He’d had to climb out of the Tower of London using only worn shoelaces, a long time ago, and he would have given anything for access to material as sturdy as this.

“Not so fast, Chapman. I don’t want you anywhere near me with that implement of mass destruction.” Rudyard was eyeing him warily, and Chapman reluctantly pocked the knife. “I can get out of here on my own.” He struggled feebly for a second, and then again with renewed vigor. Neither of the attempts did anything but tighten the knots. Chapman tried to think pure thoughts, since Rudyard almost certainly had never been in this sort of situation before and had no idea of the sort of ideas that were running through Chapman’s head. Oddly enough, the badger costume was only adding to the effect. Unfortunately.

“No, you can’t. Here, I’ll untie you.” Chapman moved closer. Rudyard smelled like sherbert dib-dabs and cottage air. He wasn’t sure if it was him who moved his mouth closer, or Rudyard. Either way, Rudyard was the one who leapt away, as far as the ropes would allow him. Which wasn’t far. Rudyard shook his head and Chapman knew that Rudyard could still feel the imprint of his lips. Same as he could.

“What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t a brothel!” Rudyard sputtered. He was watching Chapman intently, his eyes focused with pinprick precision on the other man’s mouth.

“You haven’t heard about my latest business venture?” Chapman asked, moving his hand to Rudyard’s face. Rudyard leaned into the touch and Chapman ran his hand along the sharp features. As he brushed his thumb downwards, Rudyard opened his mouth, drew it in. Bit. Harder than was generally considered sexy. “What the heck, Rudyard?”

“I am not here as one of your unsavory clients, Chapman,” Rudyard said stoically, though he looked embarrassed, staring down as his paws rather than making eye contact. 

“It was a joke, Rudyard.” Chapman sighed and leaned in again. Rudyard’s lips moved like Chapman was kissing a dead fish and he had no idea what to do with his tongue and he was the best thing Chapman had ever tasted. “Do you have to take everything so seriously?”


End file.
